She glowered out of shawls and rugs, her bald head covered by a fur-lined cap. Her abundant red wig lay on the floor nearby, looking for all the world-like a ginger cat.
“Perhaps the parents will recollect their duty.”
“If those two are married, I’m a stuffed goose!”
Genova had come to the same conclusion. “But if ‘Mrs. Dash’ is trying to foist a bastard on ‘Mr. Dash,’ why would she think he’d take it? And how utterly heartless to dump her child on complete strangers.”
“The world’s full of heartless opportunists. This promises to be a plaguey mess!”
Genova soothed the old lady, knowing how hard this journey was for her. The most luxurious coach couldn’t smooth roads rutted and frozen by theweather, and even with her own sheets and pillows, Lady Calliope hated strange beds.
“I suppose there’s nothing to be done tonight,” Lady Calliope muttered, “but—” She broke off because of a knock on the door. “What now?”
Genova went to open it, praying that by some miracle it was Mrs. Dash, but she found Lynchbold, who looked uneasy.
“Excuse me, ma’am. This gentleman claims to be a relative of the ladies and wishes to be of assistance to them.”
He stepped aside and a man moved forward.
Mr. Dash!
Genova gaped at the man’s gall, and he seemed as shocked to see her. Had she spoiled some new game? She dearly hoped so.
Before she could speak, Thalia said, “A relative? How delightful. Who?” She fluttered over to Genova’s side. “Ashart! My dear boy. Come in, come in!”
Ashart!
The man inclined his head to the gawking innkeeper and obeyed, removing Genova from his path.
She would have loved to block the way again—and more effectively this time—but Thalia couldn’t be doubted. Nor could Lady Calliope, who was greeting the scoundrel with remarkable warmth.
The wolf was the Marquess of Ashart?
This man was owner of that decadently luxurious coach?
That deceiving portrait must date from his youth. Even powdered, patched, and painted for the most formal court event, this man could never look so harmless.
He kissed Thalia’s cheek and moved on to Lady Calliope. “Callie, my darling.”
Callie! Lady Calliope’s sisters sometimes used that girlish name, but on this man’s lips it sounded unnatural.
“What the devil are you doing here?” Lady Calliopeasked, not managing to sound severe. “Up to no good, I’ll be damned.”
“Brought by the angels to succor you, dear heart. I happened to halt here and learned you were making an unplanned stop at this inferior hostelry. I assume my people will have an adequate explanation.”
“Don’t bully them. It was our choice. And if you want to cut up sweet with a lady, flirt with someone younger.”
Lady Calliope beckoned, so Genova had to go. What should she do? Spill the truth and break the old ladies’ hearts? Over three months’ acquaintance, she’d learned that they doted on the marquess.
“Permit me to present Miss Smith, Ashart. Genova, this is my devil’s-spawn great-nephew, Ashart.”
He looked at her—a flick up and down that his great-aunts couldn’t see but that made her long for her pistol. “Enchanted, Miss Smith,” he lied, bowing. “Astonishing to meet a real Smith. It is real, I assume?”
“Only an idiot would take Smith as a false name, my lord.”
“Or a cunning villain who expected people to think that way. To addGenova, however, was a touch of brilliance.”
Genova dipped a belated curtsy that was as icy as the air outside. “My lord. For some reason, I expected your name to be Dash.”
